


Communication Strategies

by Asuka Kureru (Askerian)



Series: The Landlord [8]
Category: Original Work
Genre: (not gross or violent but still), Artificial Intelligence, Body Horror, First Christmas, Gen, Golems, Loyalty, M/M, Magical Inheritance, Physical Disability, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-13 01:09:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11748975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Askerian/pseuds/Asuka%20Kureru
Summary: Between finding another heir and hosting an additional dozen golems for the holidays, Sevan and Mikhail were kind of expecting the end of the year to be... busy. This is busier than they were anticipating.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I'm posting one of these without it being complete first. I have about half of it typed out but I can't promise it'll be typed out *fast*. I'm estimating it at four to six chapters atm but that could still change.
> 
> One of the new characters is agendered. Due to either lack of awareness about gender issues or other, semi-related issues with that character's background, not everyone knows how to handle that. I am not explaining the issue in depth or even 100% correctly in the warnings because it's spoiler country, but if you have triggers related to pronoun misuse and dehumanization, the topic might ping them.

> _19th December 2016_
> 
> _Mr. Bauer,_
> 
> _I am writing to you today following an inquiry by a Rebeka Bauer, née Scheinberg, where she gave me your address. Having looked into the genealogy she provided and some of my own sources, it does appear we are distantly related._
> 
> _From the patchy records left from that troubled time it is unclear if my grandmother, Genève Yvoire Vindilov-Montclair de Soisson, was sister or cousin to your mother's claimed great-grandmother, Victoria Nile von Thünen, but there were certainly both a Genève and a Victoria amongst the grandchildren of the last Lord Yanis Vindilov, Duke Volyn, who was killed in the Crimean war of 1885 without leaving a male heir. Genève was the eldest by five years, followed by Constance Tisza, and then by Victoria Nile._
> 
> _I am indeed a highly-rated mage, as I was a surgeon in lower-limb bionics before my retirement sixteen years ago. Your mother mentioned a need or request about this particular point, but did not develop the issue much. I invite you to expound on the subject in your return letter._
> 
> _Sincere regards, and my best wishes for Christmas and the coming new year,_
> 
> _Geneva Van der Veen_

\--

"What do you think?" Sevan asked, and tried and failed to stop grinning. He'd been swinging a foot back and forth over the floor pretty much the second he sat down at Walburga's dinner table and handed the letter over.

"Suspicious old broad," Darius mused before Walburga could even open her mouth.

He was sitting on the arm of Walburga's wheelchair, reading over her shoulder. " _Darius_ ," Sevan protested by reflex.

Walburga didn't look up, holding the letter with careful hands. "Irochka," she said simply, and Irina prodded Darius under the ribs with a pen, dislodging him from his perch before taking his place. Darius snickered, but stepped away, went to drape himself on the other end of the table. (From this angle his leafy hair contrasted nicely with the pretty cream plaster on the wall behind him. Sevan noted, absently, that he sort of matched Irina's wilderness paintings.) "Thanks."

"You're a brat," Sevan muttered over his shoulder. If he'd known Darius would be hanging out at Walburga and Irina's apartment, he... would still have barged in, honestly, because this wasn't the kind of thing he would ever want to wait on.

"And... Yes, she is certainly wary, but that's..."

"--Walburga?"

"We can work with that. We can work with that," Walburga repeated quietly to herself, shoulders gone abruptly loose.

Oh. Throat gone tight, Sevan politely averted his eyes from Irina's slim hand kneading gently at the back of Walburga's neck, though he couldn't stop smiling. "Mm."

"Mm," she agreed, eyes closed.

"And we have names!"

"Heh. We do."

God. He was so _excited_. "I wonder if Constance had children too, just -- Victoria and Genève kind of disappeared from records, didn't they? That's why you guys couldn't find them. They hid from the war and then later they got married. Maybe her too? Maybe she went to -- I don't know, Australia, or Vinland. Maybe there are half-Incan cousins."

Walburga gave a dry snort and crooked him a smile without quite meeting his eyes. "It's already happy enough that two of the three _did_ survive and breed, let's not be too optimistic."

"They were all sisters," Irina said softly, eyes roaming the page. "Lord Yanis did have two daughters, but one of them -- didn't she become a nun?"

"I don't remember," Walburga admitted. Her voice was still rough, still choked quiet. "I wasn't -- when the war happened I was back in Volhynia, overseeing the domain. I wasn't -- I wasn't with them."

The paper crumpled a little bit. She caressed it smooth with the outer edge of her little finger, the one that was still whole, still mostly flesh. Sevan hesitated for a second, then reached out to lay his hand on her shoulder. Darius was suspiciously quiet in his corner, looking sneakily uncomfortable.

"I'm fine," she forced out, eyes meeting Sevan's only briefly. "But -- I hadn't been with them in _years_ , and the grandchildren lived in the townhouse, apart from a summer at the old country house here and there -- oh, it was quaint and boring out there and they were children of the capitol, it makes sense. I don't even know if I had _met_ all of the granddaughters yet. They were so young."

Young, and then everyone else died. _Everyone_ else -- the family, the servants, the whole squad of golem guards, save for the handful that had been on leave that day. Made sense why the surviving golems had to eventually admit the grandchildren had probably been killed there and then with the rest. Sevan winced. It wasn't a fascinating bit of faraway history when he was reminded it had been, still was, someone's life.

"It's too bad milady Geneva is, like, the opposite of young nowadays, though."

"Daaaarius," Sevan grumbled, but stood to join him at the laptop, where he'd started typing away at remarkable speed with only his index fingers.

"No, I mean, look, from this retirement notice at her clinic she's over eighty-five by now and still using her maiden name, and with that stuffy letter I'd be _really_ surprised if she had kids out of wedlock -- shush with that doubtful face, I'm a _detective,_ okay. She were still thirty-eight or forty, we could kidnap her a dozen handsome mages for a last chance baby, but--"

" _No_ kidnapping," Sevan groused, though he had to fight back a smile.

"--Aw, c'mon, boss. We could get a contest going on who snatches up the prettiest and most biddable guy..." He fluttered his eyelashes at Sevan. "Could get you some, too, Misha's gotta be getting stale by now."

"No harem, Darius. Not for me, not for Mrs. Van der Veen, not for _any_ of us."

"That ain't what m'lord Borislav said..."

"Does the Google divine anything else," Walburga interrupted before Sevan could get dragged into another round of silliness, her voice heavy with humour.

"Nothing I've found yet!"

" _Or_ ," Sevan suggested pointedly, "we could wait until she wants to _tell us herself_. Instead of stalking her online. Just a suggestion."

"That's supposing she wants to meet us any time soon, what if she croaks before--" "--Dariuuus--" "--we can talk her into meeting?"

"Then her surviving family will be mentioned in her obituary," Walburga said forbiddingly; then her mouth twisted. "... But keep looking. If it's public, it's fair game -- isn't it, m'lord."

God it wasn't fair of her of all people to make that face.

A hundred and thirty years without any hope for another Vindilov, mage or not, and they'd only had Sevan back for all of seven months. And Sevan had no interest in fathering children -- oh, his sister might give birth to one in the next ten years, but considering their parents and grandparents weren't mages themselves, unless she married another mage the odds were pretty low. Sevan himself was already kind of a fluke as it was, so another generation down... He gave up with a sigh. "Alright, fine. Facebook-stalk her, if you feel you have to."

He didn't know how many years it would take the lot of them to stop being antsy... Huh, wait.

"Wait. If she _has_ close family, and they're descended from the _oldest_ sister, would that mean they have precedence? Over, I mean, I'm not asking if she'll want to depose me--"

"Oh, she should try," Irina said -- quiet but cold, as even Darius sobered up.

"--I know." God, his heart. His chest felt tight, grateful and pained both. "I know I'm yours for now, I meant... If my sister had a mage baby, would it go to her or back to the other branch? It was just an idle thought, I don't think it matters much."

They were all three staring at him with that odd floaty smile on their faces, like they wanted to squish his cheeks and coo, even Walburga. Sevan cleared his throat, face heating up. "Or you're mine. Same thing. Ugh."

Walburga took pity on him, though her eyes wouldn't uncrinkle. "I think with the current climate we can't really afford to be strict about primogeniture. Our lord will be the one who wants us. That'll have to do."

"Wow, you weren't even _sworn in_ ," Darius said. "No commendation ceremony either! No ceremony at all! I'm _shocked--_ "

"We haven't done commendatio since the _Middle Ages_ ," Irina pointed out, quietly entertained.

"I don't care, he didn't even take our hands in his! No, no, as a liege man I feel slighted. This is unconscionable. I'll sulk."

"I'll tell Mikhail you want to hold my hand," Sevan said disapprovingly, mouth pinched so he wouldn't laugh.

"Yes, seriously, Darius, stop pining after your lord, that's unbecoming."

Sevan spluttered. " _\--Walburga_."

She was _smirking_. "Hmm?"

"... Never mind. Anyway. I'm going to write her back, but I'm not sure how to explain about the lot of you."

She'd been a _surgeon_. That was just... God, they needed that. Sevan didn't care that her training had to be at least sixteen years out of date and probably closer to twenty, it wasn't like the golems were cutting edge -- and even if they were odd and complex in ways not seen for centuries, a trained medical mage would be so much _better_ than Sevan's bumbling around blind with _one trimester of basic lessons_. She could at least troubleshoot? She could -- God, he hoped she'd _want_ to.

Even if she didn't want to, he hoped she would agree to _supervise_. Even once. Even just. God. Walburga's spine. Vasili's _brain stem_.

"Just print her that newspaper article," Darius said innocently. "Should explain things fairly clearly."

Irina and Walburga smothered smiles. Sevan groaned. "I haven't even said yes! There's _no_ article."

"But you're going to say yes, right?" Walburga asked almost innocently, smiling at him with the corner of her mouth.

"Ugh. It's just a university newspaper, there's no point but making classmates stare at me _more._ "

"Bragging rights," Darius shot back. Sevan rolled his eyes.

"You don't know, it could be picked up by a _bigger_ newspaper."

"Why would I -- oh." Oh. Lost golems. Mikhail had been talking to people right and left, a one-man call center, peddling a meeting with an untried, twenty-first century lord, had been traveling out of town to ask around in person even, but there were so many golems who'd left no returning address. "...Oh. That's -- huh. ...Ugh." He let his shoulders slump, rubbed at his temples. "Fine. I'll schedule it."

He doubted it would interest anyone but history buffs, but maybe those history buffs would know people. Also it would cost less than buying a TV ad, like he'd been vaguely thinking about.

"But I doubt they'll have it written and published in time to reply."

"That is indeed a good reason not to do it at all," Walburga agreed placidly. Irina hid a smile behind her hand.

"I already said I'd do it," Sevan grumbled.

He looked at the three of them in turn, relented, smiled; they all looked happy. Walburga was still smoothing at the folded edge of the letter, cradled on her lap like a precious child, a kitten. There was something lighter in the way Irina held her head. Darius -- hard to read, as always, behind his constant smirks, but the way his clear green eyes curved felt completely sincere for once.

"Alright. Newspaper, first letter to Mrs. Van der Veen -- do we tell the rest of the guys now?"

"No reason to wait, is there?" Walburga grinned, eyes crinkling deep. "Darius, move that table in the corner and let's call everyone down here."

"Ma'am, yes ma'am," Darius and Sevan chorused. She grinned harder; Sevan grinned back, laughed a little, and turned to go. Darius was already shoving at the table, rolling his eyes but whistling a little.

Which reminded him. "By the way, Darius..."

"Hmm?"

"We can rent a church if you wanna, but it'll have to be after we've met Mrs. Van der Veen." He chuckled; Darius was frowning at him, confused. "I'd feel kind of weird letting you guys swear yourselves to me without even having checked out the other choices, but maybe she can give you away!" He paused, making sure to look extra-thoughtful. "I don't know where we'll find the saint's relics to swear on, though. Do you think they rent them?"

"Oh my _god_ , you incredible _jerk_. Go and kiss Misha for a bit or something!"

Had... Had Sevan managed to _fluster_ him.

Good god. _Amazing_. "No, but I would totally rent a church if you guys want the ceremony! I bet there's some small ones that wouldn't be too expensive--"

"I'm leaving you for Geneva!" Darius shouted, throwing his hands in the air, and stalked his way out of the apartment. Sevan and the two women burst out laughing.

There was a fleshy noise of impact in the corridor. "Who the devil is Geneva?" Kolya's gravelly voice could be heard asking. Sevan hurried to the door to lean out. Darius was stalking off in a huff, and if he hadn't been bark all over Sevan knew he would have been red as a tomato. He made a mental note to research liege man ceremonies and smiled at his other, nonplussed golem.

"Kolya, great timing! You'll never guess who just wrote..."

\--

> **← Boss <3**
> 
> **-wed.12/21/16-**
> 
> **Boss <3**: how goes the shopping?  
>  **Me** : i have vanquished abt 12 contenders for 3 fattest geese left  
>  **Me** : enemies were seasoned & wily be proud plz  
>  **Boss <3**: haha you're ridiculous <3  
>  **Boss <3**: good job, honey.  
>  **Boss <3**: how much still to buy?  
>  **Me** : paper plates fancy napkins righteous amount of alcohol + my secret santa which i left for last bcz inspiration might still strike  
>  **Me** : miss me? cld hurry ;3  
>  **Boss <3**: nope, not at all. :X  
>  **Me** : cryface  
>  **Me** : will hurry just so i can remind u what ur missing  
>  **Me** : brb little sausages  
>  **Boss <3**: haha ok <3<3

Chuckling to himself, Mikhail parked his nicely full cart by the party aisle without hardly bumping into anything or anyone, and looked up from his phone. Be kind of funny to take birthday-themed stuff instead of the christmas things...

> **← fucking chilikov**
> 
> **-wed.12/21/16-**
> 
> **fucking chilikov** : where r u

Huh. Tervel messaging him. Okay. Mikhail didn't remember if that had ever happened... Scrolling back up, it had been only that one time to exchange new numbers apparently.

> **Me** : grocery shopping  
>  **Me** : why  
>  **fucking chilikov** : i know youre grocery shopping i mean where in the goddamn supermarket  
>  **fucking chilikov** : i need the truck!!!

... Oookay. Mikhail pulled a couple packs of paper plates and plastic cutlery off the racks and dropped them on top of the food, frowning at his phone.

> **Me** : using it, wait your turn.  
>  **fucking chilikov** : COME THE FUCK ON  
>  **fucking chilikov** : think sevan will bitch if i steal a truck??  
>  **fucking chilikov** : he will fml  
>  **fucking chilikov** : tell him sry i had to  
>  **fucking chilikov** : gtg

_Jesus dick_. Mikhail hit the Call button instantly, hand clenched on his cart, was glad he didn't have to murder anyone when Tervel answered straight away.

"What the fuck, Chilikov."

" _C'mon, I gotta--_ "

"Tervel Kunin Chilikov, you _sit your ass down right where you are_ and you tell me what the fuck is going through your rusted head."

" _Aw, come on! I'm gonna be late!_ "

Mikhail frowned hard at a box of blow-up balloons. A little child dodged behind her mother's legs and started whimpering. "Late to what?"

" _The fucking airport, man! Kir just called, they landed like fifteen minutes ago._ "

Someone bumped into him from behind, apologized with an edge of irritation. Mikhail absently moved himself against the aisle, staring dumbly at the contents of his cart. "... Do we know anyone called Kir?"

Tervel briefly abandoned his 'why is everyone an idiot!' frustration for 'why are you even MORE of an idiot' bafflement. " _Uh, Kir Adamah?_ "

... Holy mother of God.

If he'd been in range Mikhail might have punched Tervel a little. "It's _still alive_?"

" _Uh, **yeah**. They're with Anis at the airport, like I **just said** \--_"

"We haven't fucking heard from Anis in forty years!"

"Ex _cuse_ me, young man!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm moving -- Tervel, don't you _dare_ hang up."

Phone tucked between shoulder and ear, he shuffled to the main aisle, found somewhere vaguely less bothersome to park his cart. It was noisy all around with last-minute shoppers and stressed-out housewives and crying children.

" _Not hanging up_ ," Tervel heaved a sigh. " _But unless you can give me a ride to the airport I really need to go. Kir told me to hurry._ "

"... Since when have you been in contact with them?"

" _... Always? I mean sometimes we don't talk for years, but._ "

Mikhail let out a short frustrated growl. "And you never thought to _tell_ us -- no, never mind." He wasn't too surprised that Anis would want to limit contact. Some of the guys hadn't been very ... very accepting toward his last charges. To be fair, the adamahs had been creepy down to the very last one. "I'm going to the checkout now, are you nearby?"

" _Parking lot._ "

Figured. Would he have stranded Mikhail at the supermarket if Mikhail said to go ahead? He didn't know how the fuck Tervel's logic worked some days. "Okay, come in and find me to give a hand bagging this shit, then... We'll see."

Ugh, looked like he'd have to find some time to finish shopping tomorrow or the next day. That was going to be fun, even more cramped and tense than today. He found a spot to wait in line, frowning to himself. Who to even warn, what to say? Where were they even going to put them, the empty apartments were planned out to be packed with out-of-town visitors...

Well, Tervel still had space, probably, and Mikhail _was_ inclined to blame him, so.

"Hey, Mikhail--"

"Hey," Mikhail said over the heads of several people waiting in line. "They're getting your bedroom."

"That was the plan...?" Tervel gave him a mildly wary look, and then shrugged, eyeing the other customers. Quite a few were staring back; the cashier seemed too exhausted to gawk, at least. Under his black leather jacket Tervel was wearing the tightest, reddest sleeveless turtleneck known to man, and his jacket gaped at the shoulder, flashing the balls and bearings of his armpit. That fucking asshole and his movie star face and his show-off clothes.

At least less people were looking at the edges of steel-rope tendons showing at Mikhail's throat now that they had Tervel's bare hands and the underside of his arm to ogle.

"Close your jacket, you're making me feel cold." He called Walburga, landed on voicemail. "Yeah, hey, Tervel just got news that Anis was in town with his mud soldier, we're making a detour to pick them up. We'll be late. I'll call you back when I know more."

Sigh. And Sevan...

> **← Boss <3**
> 
> **-wed.12/21/16-**
> 
> **Me** : sorry hon i gotta pick up 2 more surprise guests that just landed. Home in 1.5 hrs, 2 hrs idk.  
>  **Me** : anis tilki & kir adamah ask sm1 abt them if u wanna

"Alright, help me bag this. The meat goes in the cooler bags. It's cold enough outside it should keep fine, at least..."

"Kir told me they needed a truck, not a car," Tervel said as he started picking up the groceries the cashier sent on ahead and sliding them into the bags Mikhail had flung at him across the conveyor belt. "Dunno why, but I hope it'll fit with the groceries..."

"You can keep some on your lap," Mikhail said shortly, and then made himself breathe through his nose. He was being unfair, again. Tervel was just -- he grated, and Mikhail was never sure why.

Okay, he was a thoughtless jerk, but not a malicious one. He made Mikhail's job harder just existing, but so did Darius and Kolya, sometimes. It was just that Darius and Kolya _understood_ they were being a pain -- or at least they agreed in retrospect, once they'd been punched or disappointed at for it. Tervel kind of went through the motions, but you could feel he was just humoring you.

Mikhail had thought he had the background tension of Christmas shoppers under control, but probably some of it was still leaking through.

They got the groceries put away in the back of the truck with military speed and precision, and then Mikhail hopped in the cab to drive out, briefly slowing down by the cart shelter to let Tervel climb in.

"Your token."

"Thanks." Mikhail merged into traffic, belatedly remembered his seatbelt. The truck had been yet another thing they'd gotten thanks to Sevan's dad -- he'd spotted them a couple grands for it and Mikhail was determined to save enough on building expenses to pay him back before next year. It was approaching ten years old but in good repair and while technically any golem with a license was allowed to use it, in practice... yeah, in practice he played taxi a lot. "You got a driver's license, by the way?"

"Oh -- nah. I got one for bikes though. Dunno if it's still good. Anyway I don't have a bike at the moment and there's nothing wrong with buses, so."

Yeah, um. Mikhail didn't have a bike driving license at all, and yet. If Sevan found that out... He buried memories of Sevan pressed against his back as he drove them home on Maddie's borrowed bike before he could start feeling guilty.

"I hear you." Sigh. "No way you are driving the truck without a license. I'm telling you that upfront. But there's a sign-up sheet for driving classes if you're interested. Will probably start in February or March, depending."

"Mm."

The rest of the drive went by in silence. Tervel's fingers kept drumming complicated little rhythms on his legs and from time to time his leg would bounce. Mikhail made an effort not to tell him to cut it out; he'd had decades to accept that if the guy wasn't moving in some way, he was probably dead. Tervel could stay still when preparing an ambush, but not any farther than that.

Airport. "What gate?"

Tervel checked his phone as Mikhail parked, showed him the screen.

> **← KIR**
> 
> **-wed.12/21/16-**
> 
> **KIR** : Landed Brandenburg airport, gate B12. Bring a small truck. Be fast.  
>  **KIR** : Security office.

"... Security office? What the hell did they do?"

Tervel shrugged and pocketed his phone, then slipped out of the truck. (He still hadn't closed his jacket. Ugh.) Sighing, Mikhail locked the truck and followed him to the airport. He was starting to suspect that this wasn't going to be just a quick pick-up and then back home.

It was even more crowded than the supermarket. Mikhail hadn't thought that was possible. He loosened his stride, his shoulders, the spot between his brows; then he tapped Tervel's shoulder and smiled at him and said, "Let me do the talking, okay?" and even sounded friendly.

Getting directed to the right place took a _lot_ of smiling nonthreatheningly at airport officials and looking happy to see them. Thirty-five minutes after their arrival they were finally shown -- escorted -- to the right office, where...

Mikhail stopped in the doorway to better observe the scene.

A plain, basic office, a bare table, portable metal detector and a bin for items and other things. Two chairs.

A gray-golden-skinned person, with sheared golden-gray frizz and a narrow, droopy-eyed, inexpressive face, sitting in one of them.

A cop fingering her baton with a touch of unease.

And three embarrassed-looking airport officials, busy shoveling loose earth back into a wheeled plastic container, as Anis Tilki sat with his jaw tight and shoulders stiff as they re-buried him in soil from the hips down.

The brown skin of his thighs was covered in shockingly white roots.

Mikhail choked a little. "God's _wounds_."

Anis glared at him darkly, didn't talk. Were those pine needles poking straight through the curls and waves of his black hair? He'd never had any -- and he was an old golem, too, up there with Darius, probably approaching six hundred years of age. This was bad. His skin didn't show a bark texture yet, but -- shit.

"When'd that happen?" Pause. 'In the forty years they were gone' was the only response. "Wait. Stupid question."

"Yes," the mud soldier said, voice devoid of inflections. Mikhail glanced at it. It was looking at Tervel. "Because he can't speak."

...Oh, fucking _hell_.

"Aw, _shit_ , man --" Tervel went to Anis, crouched to be at eye level. "Muscles locked up?" He reached out toward Anis' shoulder, waited for a signal Mikhail didn't catch before touching his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Well, damn. There's still give, but how's your breathing?"

"Sixty-three to sixty-five percent of lung capacity remaining," the mud soldier said, still perfectly unmoving, perfectly seated. "He will need an oxygen bottle in the coming three months. Physical exertion is no longer a worsening factor but the decline stays regular."

The cop and the airport officials seemed content to observe and listen in for now, done repotting Anis, who had to be _dying_ of shame if Mikhail remembered him accurately at all. Mikhail spotted them a tight, absent smile.

"We've had Sevan back for months, why didn't you guys come sooner?"

"Lord Sevan is in training." The mud soldier stared at Mikhail, impassive but almost a little disdainful in the curl of its lip. Mikhail reminded himself that it was wishful thinking and baseless interpretation to read emotions on an adamah's face. "He was not projected to become useful before several more months."

"But now..." The decline stayed regular, it had just said. So... "Ah. Tervel told you guys about Lady Geneva. She doesn't know we're around yet," he pointed out, more for Anis than for the mud soldier -- gently, but firmly. Better that he didn't pin all his hopes onto her when they were barely one letter in. "And we don't know if she's gonna want to get involved."

From the floor, Anis let out a long, slow sigh, gave a tiny, resigned shake of his head.

"That's alright," the mud golem said in the old tongue, and its eyes were the lightest ochre, almost gold under dusky, heavy eyelids. "She does not have to want to."

Mikhail abruptly reevaluated a lot of old assumptions about mud golems, and about who exactly had been calling the shots for this sudden dash home.

The head official cleared her throat as they were still staring at each other, while Mikhail was still trying to figure out how much free will they were dealing with, and how much -- or how little -- empathetic restraint. "Now, if I may. Mister Tilki's passport is valid, and we, ah -- have noted down his... medical condition, but he still made the trip in the baggage hold registered as a decorative object. That's -- as you can imagine -- _quite_ illegal."

Tervel burst out laughing; Anis acquired the look of a man who would bounce his forehead off a wall if his neck could bend that far.

Suddenly exhausted, Mikhail rethought exactly how late they were all going to get to go home. Yeah, the groceries were... Maybe not going to stay okay.

"... You know what, I'll call our lawyer straight away." Maybe he could get her to pick up Timur on the way so he could drive the geese home.


	2. Chapter 2

 

> _Date: 12/22/2016_  
>  _From: sevan.bauer@tu-berlin.de_  
>  _To: h.walthers@tu-berlin.de_  
>  _Subject: Golem medical problem_
> 
> Professor Walthers,
> 
> All my apologies for writing you this close to Christmas.
> 
> Two new golems have arrived yesterday night and one of them is in an advanced state of destabilization. He's a tree type and has lost all voluntary motor function and is incapable of speech as his muscles go to wood, and his digestive tract seems not to function properly anymore. The friend who brought him in planted him in a pot and he's been growing roots, which they hope compensates a little bit for the lost nutrients. He's also been losing some lung capacity, which is not urgent yet as he does not move anymore but is certainly worrisome.
> 
> I don't think this is "please come today or he will die" urgent, as his decline has been slow and steady over several months or even years, but I admit I have a harder time perceiving the exact reach of the changes with tree types, as their modified cells tend to travel a lot more freely.
> 
> Hoping for your prompt advice,
> 
> Cordially,
> 
> Sevan Bauer

Sevan closed his laptop with a sigh and pulled his coffee mug closer along the table. Seven in the morning; he wasn't going to expect a reply before at least ten. If he was unlucky, Professor Walthers would have turned off his computer for the vacation. He had a phone number to call, but...

"Okay, if he hasn't answered at seven PM I'll call," he told his mug firmly, and took a long swallow. It burned a little in his mouth, but his apartment was cold and a little drafty and in a minute the heat started to feel good instead. Oh, he just wanted to crawl back in with Mikhail. The jerk was still asleep in Sevan's bed, face down in his pillows under Sevan's fluffiest comforter...

Then again in winter Mikhail's hands and feet were _really_ cold.

Sevan was contemplating the curl of steam rising from his cup when someone knocked at his door, once, and then pushed it open. Which wasn't a rare occurrence in this building, to be honest, but not usually this early.

"Yes?" he said, blinking, as the more mobile of the new golems stepped in. "Oh, hello. You're -- Kir, right?"

"Yes." Kir stared down at him. "You're Lord Sevan."

Kir was... _kind_ of weird, Sevan couldn't help but think; the lack of expression tended to feel severe to him, like Kir was constantly disappointed. Walburga hadn't explained a lot -- just said 'All golems named Adamah started out mud, not human', her face set in a forbidding frown, and nothing more. Which... well, Sevan had been told those also existed -- once, in passing, and then it had _never been mentioned again_ , like none of his other golems expected him to ever meet one of those.

He was a bit flying blind there, and he wasn't enjoying it a lot.

"I would rather be called Sevan, with no title," Sevan said cautiously. "Nobility is kind of weird nowadays. Um. Do you want some coffee?"

"No." A pause. "Thank you. I want the truck keys. Tervel said Mikhail Kirillovich would have them."

Another thing that frustrated Sevan a lot was that Kir would turn their head, and Sevan would see a woman. And then look ahead, and -- no, definitely a man. Probably? No, wait.

Their body was similarly ambiguous -- square shoulders, small but present breasts, no adam's apple or traces of facial hair, no rounded hips or marked waist. Sevan didn't want to ask -- was he just seeing wrong, was it deliberate? Nobody had said one way or another.

"He... does." Sevan was pretty sure Mikhail hadn't put them back in the box in Walburga's apartment, at any rate. "Why do you need the truck?"

"I need to buy soil and fertilizer. Potentially a bigger pot if any are available."

Sevan grimaced a little, draining his cup. Less hot, but still hot. "I don't think that's likely. It'll be less expensive to ask one of the guys to make something with leftover planks, we've got some in the basement."

Kir took a second before nodding an answer. Sevan sighed and poured himself another cup. "Alright, give me a minute--"

The door opened again; Tervel peeked in, goatee first, grinned wide and toothy the second he saw Kir's golden hair. "You're still here! Hey. Hey, boss."

"Tervel, hi. Coffee?"

"Oh, sure, thanks." He ambled in, dragged a chair out to sit. His eyes were a little bruised with sleepiness but he was looking pretty... pretty content with his life, actually. Huh. "Hey, Kir, wanna sit down?"

"No. I'm waiting for the keys."

Sevan winced. Tervel blinked blandly. "Oh. I don't think Mikhail will let you drive the truck. He's weird about licenses. You got one?"

"Yes."

"A Vinlandian one or an international?"

Kir frowned faintly. "... Vinlandian."

"Dunno if that'd work here." Tervel looked at Sevan, who blinked helplessly.

"I have _no_ idea. I can drive you, if you don't mind that I also need to buy things. Mikhail was kind of interrupted yesterday..."

"What things?"

Um. Sevan forced his sleepy mind back onto the grocery list and Mikhail's texts of yesterday. "Mostly alcohol. Maybe some chips. Why?"

"Time," Kir said like it was obvious. (Tervel was snickering into his coffee cup.)

"... Time...?"

"Not a lot of things to get, and all in the same place," Tervel said, taking pity. "It should be short. I can carry things, too--"

"No."

This time Sevan was gratified he wasn't the only one who blinked and stared.

"No," Kir repeated, and actually tilted their brows down. "You need to stay with Anis."

Oh, made sense. But Tervel looked so disappointed -- Sevan opened his mouth to ask if someone else might also do, to run errands for Anis, keep him company--

"I want you to guard him."

"It's not like he's in danger here," Sevan couldn't help but say, baffled. "There's only golems. Or do you mean so he doesn't do something and hurt himself? I didn't think he even could..."

Kir didn't even bother to answer this time, only staring at him blankly.

Tervel seemed torn, disappointed but kind of resigned about it. "Aw." He considered his cup for another second, then smiled up at Kir. (It wasn't a smirk at all. How weird.) "Yessir. Going straight away. Soon as I finish this." He snatched up two sugar packets from the box, poured them in, and started sipping in earnest.

Sevan stood up, trying to remember if the shopping list existed anywhere but in Mikhail's head right now. The keys would be in his pants, which would be on the floor by the bedroom door, so he had a chance to get them without waking him up -- and considering Mikhail had been out until midnight wrangling officials with their new lawyer, and then driving the lot of them home, and then being too grumpy-tired-worried to even lay down until about one or two, Sevan really didn't want to wake him up now.

Okay. Alcohol, he could pick and choose as he went through the aisle -- chips and things, too. What else. What had they planned to make for Christmas again... Did they have enough potatoes? Maybe more eggs too --

"Oh, by the way, boss," Tervel said. Sevan shook himself out of his grocery daze. "Make sure you just say what you mean with Kir, yeah? You should be good about it, you're all professory already, but just saying."

Sevan stared down at him, briefly nonplussed. "Um. Thanks? I suppose?" He looked at Kir, who was... watching him right back. Did they ever blink? He was sure they must, but also briefly, irrationally sure that he would never catch them at it. "Do you... have trouble with figurative language?"

"No. Considering every single word or gesture used to communicate between humans depends on context in some way, interpreting hyperbole and allusions is a necessary skill. I have it."

"But you don't like having to use it," Sevan said slowly. He didn't think he was wrong.

A brief, disapproving pause. "It's tedious. I don't have a social autopilot to approximate by reflex with."

Um. What did he even mean by -- oh. _Oh_. "--Do you mean you're having to be _entirely_ engaged every single time you interact with someone? Like -- noting every little detail and then translating it into useable data in your head?"

"Yes."

"Wow, that's -- yeah, that does sound tiring." Also pretty interesting -- he'd never been all that into artificial intelligence but he was sure this would make his friend Maria make a lot of happy noises. But at the moment it was mostly a possible obstacle to work around. "I'll do my best to be clear about things."

"He's pretty good about it," Tervel said carelessly. "Ignore all the fretting in the background, though, his fussy baseline is set up _way_ low."

Sevan threw him a mock-glare. "Okay, give back my coffee, I don't like you anymore."

Standing up, Tervel pretended to stick a finger down his throat, and laughed when Sevan flapped a hand in his direction.

... Was he really being playful with _the guy who'd landed several mafia members in the hospital for weeks_ and _laughed about it_. His life was so weird.

Tervel seemed to like it, though. Being bossed around, snarked at.

"Shoo, you're a brat. I'll be right back, Kir, I've got to get dressed."

He snuck into his bedroom to get some pants and find the keys in Mikhail's pocket. Mikhail grunted at the light, burrowed into the mattress face first; Sevan had to pause to smile down at him and pull the comforter up his bare shoulders. He liberated the keys from his pants and then snuck out again.

"You're still undressed."

"--I _know_ ," Sevan said, biting back a reflexive 'give me a minute', and started pulling his pants up. Pullover and jacket were strewn across the couch, and shoes were right by the door -- "Okay, let's go."

One good thing about shopping with Kir, he found out that morning, was that they were damn quick to zero in on a bargain.

Another thing, from the steely determination in their gestures, the hurry to get home, was that they trusted none of the golems with Anis -- except for the one careless troublemaker Sevan had, which was definitely intriguing too. He put that in a corner of his mind, since direct questioning was unlikely to work out well, but he kept poking at it for the rest of the day.

 

_\-------------------------_

 

> _As of the 24th_  
>  _1 space left in 3B (women only!),_  
>  _2 spaces in 4A, 3 in 6A_  
>  _See Irina in 1B for details!_
> 
> _If anyone needs their space,_  
>  _I can free two rooms in 2A_  
>  _No worries!_  
>  _Sevan_

"How come?" Sigrid asked him, squinting at the little yellow squares stuck to the cork board. The board was covered in notices -- the driving lessons sign-up sheet, the common meals sheet for the week, the emergency contact list -- Sevan's number, Mikhail's, Walburga's, Timur's for emergency repairs, their main social workers, their lawyer.

Also there was a pretty good drawing of their ugly building with a drawbridge and two towers added on, the Vindilov banner floating proudly over the rearing truck. Darius was _weird_.

Mikhail had stopped in the entry hall to let the visitors brush the sleet off their heads and stomp it off their feet. "How come what?" he asked absently, and leaned over her shoulder to press on the upper edge of the second post-it to make sure it would stick. Corkboard and sticky paper weren't the best mix, maybe he should take a pin from the poster...

"How come he can free two rooms, but hasn't already...?"

Mikhail blinked down at her. "Oh. Two-A is his apartment, but Walburga said not to put people he hasn't met yet with him. I don't think he'd mind, it's mostly so the guys don't get all awkward sharing with him." He looked back at the corridor; Bertram was still batting melting snow off his shoulders, the rough iron of his fingers damp in a way that meant there would be rust later if he didn't get that dried out in short order. Hm. "Hey, Bertram, you met him last summer, right? With the mafia thing."

"M'lord? Uh. Yes."

Mikhail smiled a bit; he already knew the answer to that one. "Want his spare room? Otherwise you'll all be sharing three to five a room."

" _That's_ alright," Bertram said, looking vaguely affronted. "I'm not going to be sharing quarters with my _lord_. It's not right."

Hallsteinn and Niko Crook-Hand sneaked each other a speaking, vaguely eye-rolling look, but didn't offer themselves either.

Sigrid was still frowning at the post-its, even as she finished struggling out of her dripping, patchy coat. "So where would _he_ stay."

\-- Oh. Um.

"With me," Mikhail said with an airy shrug. Goddamn. He wished he could just not say it, spare himself some teasing and gossip, but it was bound to come out later at some point. Like, when they finally got to sit down for five minutes and Sevan absently cuddled into his side, which Mikhail was _not_ going to pass up on to spare some outmoded sensibilities. "I can't believe there's still some of us who don't know how we met. Thought Darius had fixed that."

"Well, that sounds like a good one," Stoyan said, bushy eyebrows up. Bertram looked embarrassed. Mikhail started them moving toward the stairs. "I just heard one of you guys ran into him -- that was you?"

"Yeah, we met at a bar," Mikhail said, and then flicked a close-mouthed grin at the lot of them over his shoulder. "By which I mean I picked him up."

Two seconds of silence, and then Stoyan punched him in the kidneys. Mikhail hopped two stairs up to dodge a suitcase swung at his legs, snickering.

"You _didn't_."

"Seduce him for a night of filth and sodomy?" Mikhail beamed, cheeks probably actually dimpling. Months later and it still bowled him over, thinking about that kind of luck. "Nah. You know it's not my thing."

"God's hooks, you _cur_ , he's supposed to make us _babies_."

"Yeah, that's probably not going to happen," Mikhail told Hallsteinn with a dry, unapologetic shrug. "He's pretty bent. Oh the upside, family elsewhere."

"Have you -- have you guys been hooking up since then," Sigrid asked, and Mikhail had to pause on the landing to look at her face; she'd sounded... weird.

"Uh. Yeah? Why'd -- oh."

The way her dark eyes searched his face. The worried pinch of her pale lips. The way she -- had there been a lord like that, Mikhail wondered. Or a lord's son or cousin, or an in-law... Statistically speaking, probably there had been several, thinking the golem women in the army were barely a step up from the camp followers. Milena would know.

"Oh no, God. No. He's gonna make an honest man out of me someday, soon as I ask, I'll bet," he said, lowering his voice to match the intensity of her eyes. "Hell, he already did, mafia-free for seven months and counting. He's _good_."

"... You're gonna marry your _lord_?"

And of course the rest of the guys were still here and still listening in, which, yeah, the corridor wasn't that wide so he'd been able to see them all along but also fuck them.

He, uh, hoped they weren't going to assume everybody knew and mention it to the local golems. He'd be able to pass it off as hyperbole easily enough, but he wasn't in the mood to listen to Darius hum wedding marches for the next seven years either way.

"Let's put it that way," he said, flippant, heart in his throat with how incredulous he was that he _actually meant it_ , "if I had to choose between him being my lord and being my husband, I'd probably take the husband."

Stoyan blinked at him long and slow. "... Wow."

"But you're not even living together," Sigrid pointed out, mouth still kind of tilted down. Mikhail made a note to sic Milena on her, or -- no, probably Irina. Irina had a lighter touch. Also Mikhail had a hard time not seeing Milena laughing in a guy's face and punching him out if he made an unwelcome move, lord or not, consequences be damned. Irina would probably understand her better.

"... Which is why I haven't asked yet. But sleepovers are _really_ not a problem, so before any of you end up in a fistfight with your roommates--"

"Come to you and facilitate some unwed filthy sin?"

"I _knew_ you'd understand, Niko. Do it for my prick's sake -- ow! Haha."

"What are you _talking_ about," Sevan asked, of course, from his front door. He was staring at Mikhail with the googly, frowny eyes he usually reserved for Darius.

"Hey, Sevouchka," Mikhail said, unable to keep his voice from dipping a little, his mouth from smiling that private, tender smile. "Come meet the latest batch."

"Hello," Sevan said, venturing out of his doorway with a smile. "I'm Sevan, it's nice to meet you guys. You'll still have to tell me later," he muttered in an aside to Mikhail, who snickered and slipped an arm around his waist. Sevan's magic was all quiet and calm today, probably because he'd been getting a workout throwing out feelers to every single new golem in the building so he could fuss at a distance.

"No I won't," Mikhail whispered in his hair, knowing he was showing off a little bit but so content right this instant he didn't even care. Sevan was so warm and dry after the sludgy mess of half-rain-half-snow outside.

"It's your prick, I'm interested. Anyway, hi, what's all your names, and do you know who you're staying with?"

The guys introduced themselves with easy cheer, and Sigrid last, with... still with wariness, but Sevan must have been tired or distracted because he didn't immediately zero in and worry about that. He pulled out his cell phone to get the room spreadsheet and started frowning at it. "Okay, so, Sigrid, if you don't mind staying with guys there's space elsewhere but otherwise you can probably still squeeze in with Milena and Yrsa. There's a Revna there too, you guys all know each other?"

"Mm, yeah. That works well enough."

"Okay, sold. They're in 3B. 4A is empty but for, uh, Engke?, and 6A is entirely empty for the moment, so I guess if you guys don't mind a climb..."

They started haggling. Thankfully they were all damp and chilled enough that they didn't want to linger in the corridor too long, so it was a pretty short time before they were all ready to move on. Mikhail spent the wait leaning on his boyfriend and leaching in some warmth and skin contact. The little side-eyes were hilarious.

They shed Sigrid on the third floor, Yrsa pulling her in with a bone-cracking hug and Hallsteinn pausing to say hello; and then someone caught up on the stairs.

Oh, hey, the adamah. Mikhail lifted a hand in salute, still not too sure what to do with the... guy. Girl. Thing. Kir gave him a nod back, at least, which gratified him a little.

Kir was carrying a big square of planks over its -- their, ugh -- shoulder, and at first he thought they'd stopped walking because they didn't know how to navigate the crowd while holding that.

"--Why's -- how. What?"

Sevan tilted his head at Bertram, confused. "Um. That's Kir. Hey, Kir, are you going up to Tervel's?"

Kir did not look at him. They were looking at Bertram, who... looked a little sick. Huh. "Yes."

"Niko's waiting for Hallsteinn, could you show Stoyan and Bertram to 4A? 6A is gonna take some explaining--"

"No," Kir said.

Mikhail twitched, tensed up.

"I don't want to, so I won't." They pushed through the group with their planks and walked off, disappearing in the staircase going up to the third level, and Mikhail could have sworn they were making it a point not to look at Bertram at _all_.

"That... was kind of weird," Sevan said, blinking. Mikhail exchanged a speaking look with Stoyan. Yeah, _kind_ of, but probably not for the reasons Sevan thought.

"Yeah," he agreed anyway, already wincing inside.

"That was -- that's -- it's not supposed to happen," Bertram said. "It just -- just. Wanted? Left?"

"I would rather you didn't call Kir an it, please," Sevan said, looking uncomfortable. "I know it's habit by now, but..."

"But it _is_ an it! Beg your pardon, my lord, it's a -- a _Turing machine_ , a _computer_ , it's not -- what did its handler _teach_ it?"

Oh fucking hell. " _Bertram_ ," Mikhail snapped. "Your lord made a polite request. I'm making it an order. Now _move_."

It wasn't even like he didn't understand why Bertram was freaked out -- this was like being stared down by a cannon that had figured out how to fire itself, and scrambling to remember if you had given it any reasons to fire on you. But Sevan's _face_. God.

He herded Bertram and Stoyan to the stairs with one hand against each back, before Sevan could start asking any questions. He could feel the crackle up his spine, reaching spiky, unsure fingers of almost-light.

"It was a learning machine. It learned. You accept it, and you don't piss him off." Fuck. "Them. Whatever. This is your apartment. Stoyan, you too. Tonight's dinner starts at seven thirty on the first floor, court side apartment. Dismissed."

Sure enough Sevan had followed them up, and sure enough when Mikhail looked after the front door of 4A had closed he was standing on the landing, one hand on the guardrail, watching him.

"You're aware you guys aren't _really_ an army anymore, right...?" Sevan said, cautious of Mikhail's sudden bad mood. Mikhail made himself relax his shoulders, sighed the tension out.

"Well, _I_ know that," he said with a faint smile (were they really not, though). "But as long as they don't figure it out I'm not telling them. It's useful."

"Mmh." Sevan gave him another smile, tentative in a different way. "It's interesting when you go all drill sergeant at people. But, um. You're kind of still scowling."

\--Agh.

Heaving a sigh, Mikhail let his expression fall, tried to figure out what his face was doing left to its own devices. Probably no use trying to fake it right now. It was just Sevan. They were supposed to be a team.

It was hard when he knew Sevan was going to be disappointed in them, though.

"I... should probably try to tell you a bit more about adamahs, and. Like. Other golems' relationship to them. I'm not the best person to talk about it but the only mud wranglers in the building right now are Bertram and Anis, and Anis can't speak. Or... Maybe Iosef or Yrsa, I guess, if you wanna see it from another angle."

"Stone golems?" Sevan asked, eyes narrow in thought, immediately zeroing in on that.

"... Yeah."

"Not Walburga?"

Mikhail winced, didn't even bother hiding it. " _God_ , not Walburga."

"Why?"

"She'll piss you off. Ugh." He raked both hands through his hair. He could hear Niko and Hallsteinn on the stairs now. "Wanna go up to my place and barricade the door?"

Sevan looked a little tempted. "Let's... Let's show them up, tell them about the shower problem, and then we'll be next door to your place anyway." A pause. "And then we can talk."

"... No hug?"

Sevan frowned absently, eyes gone slightly distant, more calculating. "We can hug and talk, but I think I need to know about this before tonight."

Oh right, yeah. Christmas eve dinner.

God, some days he really hated his family.


End file.
